FStop
by ShilohPR
Summary: After realizing she needs a hobby to be her 'thing' for the eternity she plans to spend with the Cullens, Bella begins to experiment with photography. With Edward's departure, Bella retreats to the darkroom, but will her new hobby be enough to pull her through? AU from breakup onwards.
1. Prologue

_AN: Bringing this story back to keep plugging away at it and hopefully finish it!_

**F/Stop**

**Prologue**

Eternity, I've been told, is a very long time. My personal experiences put very human limitations on eternity, packaging it neatly into a square box that I can easily wrap my hands around. That first car ride "home" when Charlie picked me up from the airport upon my arrival in Forks. That first night, listening to the rain tink against the window and brush against the roof in gusts, like the clouds were blowing out birthday candles. The drive from the security of the chief's house to the high school for the first time, peering over the steering wheel of my new truck and praying I wouldn't run over anyone.

And of course, that first day in biology, sitting beside the enigmatic Edward Cullen.

The same Edward Cullen whose long fingers slid across the ivory keys only a shade apart from his skin. The melody danced around us in the room, prancing through the bands of late afternoon sunlight, but the sound was muffled by my concentration as I watched the bumps under the skin on the back of his hands. They seemed connected to the cables within the piano, like he wasn't actually playing the piano at all, but simply his own bones.

Wordlessly, I rose from the couch and approached. He was used to me doing weird things while he played, and acted as though he hadn't even noticed my movement. The notes continued steadily, though his shoulders twitched the slightest bit and I saw his jaw flex as I lay my fingers gently on his left hand. The melody suddenly simplified as though he were keeping his hand as still as possible for me without ending the song.

I let my fingers rest there a long moment, feeling the notes through his skin. It was mildly creepy but intensely fascinating. The tips of my fingers traced the cables past his wrist and up his forearm, the flexing of his muscles becoming broader and gentler the higher I reached. When my hand brushed his elbow, my fingers dipped beneath the short sleeves of his tee shirt to trace the muscles further.

Instantly he froze, his hands still perched gracefully on the keys, and after a slow breath he asked gently, "Yes, Bella?" I bit back my smile but the edges of his mouth turned up slightly as he tried to remain serious and responsible and all those things I wished he would give up on already

"How long did it take you?" I asked after a moment, returning to my original train of thought.

"Did what take me?"

"To learn to play like that."

He stretched his fingers out against the keys, smiling down at the familiarity, before answering, "I don't know. I had all the time I needed. I didn't exactly keep a practice log, Bella." He smiled at me, his crooked grin matching the sudden energy as his hands ran up the keys in a scale. Up a half step and he played the new scale, then up another half step, another scale. Playing the piano was the simplest thing in the world to him. Of course. It had been easy for him to master the instrument when he had eternity at his finger tips.

"Right."

"Why do you ask?" he inquired, his fingers falling still again. I wished he would continue to play while he talked; every note seemed to harmonize perfectly with his voice. "Do you want to learn?"

"No," I shrugged. "I mean . . . I would never be as good as you . . . and it's sort of your thing, anyway. I like listening to you play, and it just wouldn't be the same."

"And what's your 'thing'?" His grin had become the smile of a parent whose child is misusing a word, or trying to tell a joke they don't understand. I hated it; it made me feel stupid and small, even though I knew he didn't mean anything by it. I should have been glad I could amuse him, I know, but usually it just reminded me of one more way in which I didn't measure up to him. That grin made me feel our ninety-year age difference.

I gave him a stern stare, "It's a serious concern, Edward." He laughed at my attempt and shook his head, his fingers silently clicking along the keys without pushing down. "I'm trying to decide how I'm going to spend eternity, here."

"Oh, and here I thought you had decided you would be spending it with me?" He gave me an eyebrow lift and a sideways glance. My impending change –for I refused to think of it as anything but impending, even if I had yet to convince Edward of this—was never discussed in seriousness with him. Again, he would give me that condescending smile, like I was a six-year-old telling him I planned on growing up to be a ballerina or an astronaut. I'd hope he would support me in either of those endeavors, so why was he so opposed to something much more practical? Vampire.

I rolled my eyes to show him I was not joking, and insisted, "I am. That's not what I'm debating. It's just that everyone has their thing, and I want a thing. What am I going to do when you're holed up in here composing?"

"Listen?"

"You know what I mean. You have your music. Alice has fashion and Esme has art and Carlisle has medicine. Jasper has, what, war tactics and legal stuff to scrutinize and Rosalie has cars and Emmett has . . . well, Rosalie. And sports, I guess. But I don't have a thing." I sat beside him as I said this and he twisted to face me, our shins pressing together on the piano bench. His eyes stared intently at my shoe and I wondered if he was even listening to me. But of course he was. Edward was always listening.

"You like to read," he pointed out, but I shrugged, "That's not really a thing."

"You could write."

"And publish? Becoming a celebrated author is probably not the best way to hide what I am."

"You're a human, Bella," he reminded pointedly, and I gave him what I hoped was a chastising look. It just made him grin. "But it's good to see you so confident in your writing abilities. Celebrated, huh?"

"Well I'll have eternity to hone my skills. But I wouldn't be able to publish unless I do the whole pseudonym thing or something . . . Or, what, just write hundreds of amazing novels and leave the only copies to gather dust on our shelves?"

"I'd read them," he offered. "And it's been done before." I thought about asking who, but later. I was determined not to let him sidetrack me right now.

Instead I snorted, "They'd probably all be about you anyways."

"You are far too enamored by me," he laughed. "I don't deserve any of your attention." His fingers were tapping at my jeans mindlessly and I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was composing a song on my calf muscle. Usually he stared hard into my face when I spoke, unsettlingly so, leaving me fumbling over my words and blushing at his intense scrutiny. He was pretty mellow today, though, and I wished desperately to read his mind. At least he can't read mine, either, I mused stubbornly. What an unfair advantage that would have been. If I was going to spend the rest of eternity over-analyzing his every move, he had to as well.

With a shrug, I joked, "Probably not. Every talent needs their muse, though, right? I'd just write . . . An Illinois Vampire in Chief Swan's Precinct. Or A Day in the Life of Edward Cullen. How about Lady Swan's Lover? "

"Dr. Cullen and Mr. Hyde?"

"Which one are you?" I teased with a smirk.

"Which one was the monster again?"

"Oh, please," I rolled my eyes and gave his arm a hard shove and he moved his shoulders to pretend it actually had some effect. He was so absurd sometimes. As if there were anything monstrous about the man sitting in front of me, as if even a splinter of badness could be found in his marble body. It was a hopeless argument at this point; neither of us would budge. Even knowing the natural lifestyle of a vampire, which Edward didn't partake of anyways, I was proud of my argument that really, he was just abiding by the food chain. Like a lion hunting a gazelle. It just so happened that vampires were at the top, not humans. If he was a monster, so was I to cows, chickens, and carrots. Really, it was a valid point. A+ for me.

He accused me of being cold to my species; I insisted I identified more with vampires anyways. He bemoaned my unhealthy obsession with them; I threatened to join the Evanescence fanclub and dress in all black. He bought me all the albums; I sang the songs full out, particularly ones that mentioned blood and beating hearts, as double punishment, because his joke had backfired, and because my voice was awful. Singing was certainly not going to be my thing unless the change wrought miracles on my vocal chords.

"Well what are you good at?" he asked, as though he didn't already know the answer.

"Nothing."

"Bella . . ."

"It's true," I laughed, poking his shoulder. "Name my talent. And no, attracting trouble, blushing, and fainting can not be my thing."

"Though you do have the market cornered on those three things . . . But I still think you should go with reading and writing," he insisted. He held his hands up in surrender. I twined our fingers together and stared at our joined hands. His cold skin, once so surprising, was now simply a familiar comfort, a soothing reminder of my infallible boyfriend's unfathomable dedication to me.

"Although," he mused, and suddenly his lips twisted into an impish smirk that made me want to push him back, fall on top, and do terrible things to him. Frequently that was the effect he had on me, but I tried to brush the thoughts from my mind and focus on his smooth voice. "Although, it's very possible that if you change, I will abandon music completely."

I frowned and argued, "No, I would never let you do that. That's part of the reason I need a thing, so you don't have to spend all your time trying to entertain me."

"But Bella, you would be my new thing."

I blushed. How else does one respond to that? Nothing is appropriate. The only response my brain could formulate . . . was to push him back, fall on top, and do terrible things to him. And this time, that was entirely his fault.

He laughed at my distress, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say things like that."

"No, you shouldn't, you big jerk."

Again he laughed, his teeth glittering between his red lips, before confessing, "I just don't think you need to be worrying about it, is all."

"Forever's a long time, Edward."

He sighed and now his smile was gone, "Exactly, Bella."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Bella sat on the counter, kicking her feet as Edward constructed a sandwich on the opposite counter. Constructed was the only appropriate word; he was still learning about this whole cooking thing, and apparently thought perfect symmetry would be important to a growling stomach.

"Edward," Bella whined, drawing out the 'r' , "Do I get to eat that thing or what?"

He turned back to his work and answered, "Almost . . . all right." Quickly the plate was set on the dining room table and he helped her jump down from the counter. "Now you may eat."

"I don't know. Now I feel guilty biting into your masterpie—"

"Just eat," he ordered, collapsing gracefully into the chair beside her. It was still always a bit unsettling to eat in front of him, but at the same time unavoidable. The options were to suck it up and pretend he couldn't hear the saliva smacking in her mouth or to be around him less, and no amount of embarrassment could make her wish for the latter.

"Is it any good?" he asked after a few silent minutes.

"It's very possible that this is the single most amazing turkey sandwich I have ever—"

"Just eat," he repeated, once again interrupting her with an eyeroll. She laughed and took a particularly large bite only to choke and wince as she swallowed a lump much larger than her throat wished to accommodate. "I've seen six-month-olds handle solid foods for the first time better than that."

"Please. You've never been around a six-month-old."

"I've seen a baby before, Bella."

Bella gulped down milk to smooth the scratches the crust had left inside her throat before teasing, "So that's what you do in your free time? You watch babies eat?"

"I watch one sleep, too."

"I'm not a baby, jerk."

He snickered, "You're right, Bella. I'm sorry. Because clearly you are an adult woman perfectly capable of articulating an eloquent—"

"Oh shut up already. Let me eat my sandwich in peace."

"Yes, ma'am!" he joked, rising to refill her milk glass. Both knew his close attention to every aspect of her care frequently made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't really complain about it, and until she told him to stop he didn't plan on it. Probably not even then. He had been human once too, of course, but so much time had elapsed since then, and he had become so entirely entrenched in his current way of life, that basic human needs fascinated him. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion, temperature – all so rudimentary to Bella's life, and it delighted Edward each time it was in his power to alleviate a need. He was getting better at cooking. He could refill her milk glass. He could tuck her in at night and grin at her innocent mumblings as she slept. He could make sure she had a jacket when the weather turned or now, with the onset of summer, he could press his cool fingers to her neck when her cheeks flushed after being outdoors for too long. She was so fragile, and in the grand scheme of things he felt helpless to keep her happy and safe, but these things he could do. These things he wanted to do.

Bella simply couldn't tell him no with any force at all. And she couldn't help but feel delight at his warm grin whenever he did something that pleased her. Besides, she could let him care for her now if it would leave him more open to the whole becoming-a-vampire plan . . .

Edward was in the middle of saying something about osteoporosis and bone fragility when Esme suddenly flounced into the kitchen and tossed a heavy binder onto the table beside Bella. Her sandwich, which had been momentarily set down, toppled over and Edward frowned. Maybe he should stick a toothpick in it next – god, no, Bella would impale herself on it. The girl had an eye for the things she shouldn't notice, but when it came to the obvious, such as a toothpick jutting out of her sandwich, it was like she just closed her eyes and hoped for the best. Honestly, it was miracle the girl had survived as long as she had.

"What's this?" Bella asked as Esme claimed the chair Edward had been in. He grinned at the delighted monologue running through Esme's mind. There was no doubt as to her role in the family, but it was rare she got to do much in the way of typical mothering. But now one of her children had brought a girlfriend home and the requested package had finally arrived from the Denalis, who had been keeping it hidden safely away until the Cullens were settled.

"This," Esme beamed, leaning forward and running her fingers over the Cullen crest stenciled onto the cover, "is our family photo album." Bella sat up straighter and sent Edward an excited smile before leaning in closer to Esme. He shook his head and set her glass of milk down. If she thought there would be embarrassing photos, she was going to be disappointed. But perhaps she was simply curious.

"I didn't know you had a family photo album. I didn't know you even kept any pictures . . ." She remembered when school photo packages had been passed out. Alice had giggled that Edward's expression hadn't changed in them since 1954, and probably she was right. Even knowing Edward had been seventeen since 1918, that he had been a teenager during the Great Depression, during World War II, during the sixties and the seventies and the god-awful eighties – well, she couldn't imagine that having any effect on his appearance. Edward in a bomber jacket? Edward in round rose-colored glasses? Edward with a ponytail or a tie-dye shirt? No, she could only see Edward as he was now, timeless, anachronistic to a degree.

"We don't keep many," Esme explained, opening to the first page as Edward took a seat on Bella's other side and glanced at the album with minimal interest. "None of us really think or care to remember a camera, of course, and photography has advanced so much . . . And it wouldn't do to have a bunch of black and white photos that are clearly from the fifties showing the children at their current ages. But sometimes someone will remember a camera, and sometimes we decide to keep one."

"So these are the select few," Bella summarized to sound like she was listening. Really her mind had already left the kitchen and she could only focus on the photo dominating the first page, one of the parents of this wonderful family. Carlisle and Esme's wedding photo. It had yellowed and faded to a fuzzy, soft focus, so much so that Bella could almost convince herself it wasn't them. They weren't smiling, but still somehow happiness exuded from bright faces, Esme's eyes as dark as Carlisle's were light.

"1921," Esme explained. "I had just been changed but we couldn't wait any longer."

"You're beautiful," Bella whispered, awestruck. Esme was always happy, but Esme on the day Carlisle took her as his wife was ethereal.

The next page had three photos. Emmett and Rosalie smiling, arms around each other in the middle of the Roman Forum. Carlisle and Esme in St. Peter's Square. Carlise, Esme, Edward, and Rosalie standing in front of the Trevi Fountain. In this last one, Carlisle and Esme were grinning, but Edward and Rosalie both looked like pissed teenagers annoyed at their parents for dragging them along. It was such a typical tourist photo –except that the photo was black and white and faded, the edges scalloped like in the photos from Renee's childhood albums.

"You look furious," Bella teased.

Edward made a face, "Emmett was being obnoxious. He had never been to Italy and about drove us all crazy. This was . . . 1948?"

Esme nodded, then added, "Carlisle and that fountain are about the same age."

"Wow." Bella leaned closer. 1948. She was looking at a photo of Edward, Rosalie, Esme, and Carlisle, taken by Emmett, in Italy only a few years after the second world war had ended, and they looked exactly the same as they did now. Edward's hair defied the decades. It was all surreal.

The next page had five small snapshots, still with the scalloped edges, still black and white and fuzzy. Alice and Jasper holding hands and standing in the surf of some beach. Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice, and Edward standing in between the columns of the Parthenon. Esme and Carlisle behind the wheel of a boat. Emmett, Jasper, and Edward crouched on the bow of the boat, all shirtless. Rosalie and Alice wearing broad-rimmed sunhats and lounging on a porch.

"Greece, 1977," Esme explained.

There didn't seem to be any chronological order, though at least photos taken in the same place were on the same page –rarely were there more than three photos from any single trip. Prague, Paris, London, Moscow, Buenos Aires, Monaco, Glasgow, Warsaw, Cape Town. Except for changing clothing styles and backdrops, the pictures looked like they could have been taken over the span of a couple days. It was one thing to be told that the Cullens didn't age; it was another entirely to look closely at a photo of Edward writing on a colorful wall in the eighties and not see any physical difference in him at all, though almost twenty years had passed.

"The Lennon Wall," Edward explained when Bella pointed to the photo. "It's in Prague. That was – well, students wrote complaints about Gustav Husak's communist regime on it in the beginning. It's been repainted a couple times but still people write on it, even once communism ended there. It's actually more impressive now than it was when this photo was taken. Languages and images and quotes and lyrics from all around the world, and just . . . the goodness of humanity is on that wall."

"What did you write?"

"Noisy neighbors make quiet corpses." Bella gave him a hard look and he laughed, "All right. I put a poem by Guillaume Apollinaire."

"Who was he?" Bella bit her lip at Edward's amused grin and tried not to let it hurt her feelings. After all, everyone couldn't be a know-it-all vampire. Yet.

"He, Bella, was a French poet and writer who spent a good deal of time with the artists of Montparnasse in Paris. Maybe you've heard of some of his friends –Gertrude Stein, Marcel Duchamp, Pablo Picasso . . ." Esme and Bella both rolled their eyes at his condescending but he just laughed. "He was accused of stealing the Mona Lisa. Coined the word 'surrealism.'" He paused, his face hardening just the slightest bit. "He died of the Spanish influenza in 1918."

The same year and the same disease as Edward and his parents. That wasn't lost on Bella, but she wasn't sure how to respond. What are the odds? Small world? I'm sorry about that whole influenza epidemic thing?

Instead she pressed, "What was the poem?"

"'Come to the edge.'  
'We can't. We're afraid.'  
'Come to the edge.'  
'We can't. We will fall!'  
'Come to the edge.'  
And they came.  
And he pushed them.  
And they flew."

"It was 1987," Esme added, pointing again at the picture, and this time it was Bella's turn to give Edward a teasing smile.

"You know that's the year I was born, don't you, old man? I was a baby and you were off protesting communist regimes in Eastern Europe . . ."

And it suddenly occurred to Bella how odd it was that this didn't seem odd to her at all. Surreal, yes. Impressive and enviable, all that Edward had lived through. But she just accepted that because, hey, he was a vampire, and they live forever. No wonder he thought she was strange!

The same thought occurred to Edward, who watched her face as she returned to the album, leaning in to study the pictures on the next page of Alice and Jasper in California in the seventies. But really, Bella reasoned, it made sense. Now having Edward in her life, she couldn't imagine a world without him. Life before she was born was hard to fathom anyways, and in some ways she felt as though life hadn't really begun until she met him. It was easier to just think of him as having always existed than to try and equate his 1901 birthdate with her 1987 one. "One hundred and four years old" was harder to wrap her fingers around than "has always existed." It naturally followed then that there had been no life before him, for anyone. Maybe in the history of mankind 1918 wasn't that long ago, but to her it felt like the beginning of time because that's when Edward had become what he was, thus beginning the cycle of events that, inevitably, led her to be seated right now between him and his adopted mother, flipping through the pages of an album that spanned eighty years with the same unchanging faces.

Unfortunately, there weren't half as many photos as Bella had expected by the size of the album. Midway through, the vacation photos ended, and from there began the catalogue of wedding photos. Alice and Jasper had only been married once, and Bella thought she looked surprisingly normal in her wedding photo from 1952. Beaming and buried beneath a mountain of a dress, of course; even in the black and white photo, she seemed ready to burst from the frame while Jasper sat happily but calmly beside her. Next came the stream of Rosalie and Emmett's photos, one from each of their weddings, which even now made Edward and Esme shake their heads. Seven in all – actually, Bella didn't think that was too ridiculous, considering they had been together for:

"Seventy years now," Esme mused while Edward quickly insisted, "Don't let Rose hear you say that. She'll want an anniversary party and another wedding."

Well, and actually, Bella couldn't really imagine even going through all the fuss for one wedding, much less seven . . . The idea made her shudder. Edward didn't understand it, but took it as distaste for the idea of attending any sort of big party. He smiled and kissed her shoulder as Esme turned to the next page, his brain already skipping ahead to the blank pages following the last two photos.

Edward, circa 1932, turned sideways on the bench of an upright piano to smile at the camera in a way most uncharacteristic for photography of that time period. Still, he looked happy and beautiful and Bella felt her breath catch in her throat. Ageless, timeless, flawless . . . really, was he hers?

"What?" he pressed, his chin resting on her shoulder. She had remained silent, but he heard the jump and then flutter of her heart. His cool breath wrapped around her neck as the rumble of his voice vibrated in her chest. Or perhaps that was her humming heart. Bella really wasn't sure.

Telling him how breathtakingly beautiful he was, though, seemed ridiculous. She couldn't find the right words to adequately explain what the smile did to her, even from a fuzzy old photo. In all the other photos he had looked sad or lonely, bored or dejected. But here was the crooked grin caught on film, immortalized right before her very eyes. If she tried to describe what that photo did to her, the words were going to catch in her throat and he'd make some joke about baby's first words, probably

"It's just kind of strange to actually see you smiling," she teased, taking the safe route. "What was so special about that day that you would actually demonstrate happiness?"

Edward took the teasing in stride, though, and answered coolly, leaning forward to look more closely at himself, "That, Bella, was my first day playing my first piano. Esme bought it for our parlor on a whim and I just sat down and started playing around."

"Were you good right away?"

"No, not right away," he insisted, though Esme argued that he hadn't been bad at all. "But it just felt right." He bit his tongue before his next thought slipped out. Bella could tease him about never smiling in photos, but the truth was that he didn't really give another smile like that until seventy-three years later when an accident-prone angel fell asleep in his arms. That, too, just felt right.

Esme took it upon herself, however, to pat Bella's hand and confide, "No one was exaggerating, Bella, when we told you what a change you've brought about in—"

"Mom," Edward whined. Esme and Bella both laughed, the blood rushing to Bella's cheeks as she turned the page to avoid the real-life version of Edward's dazzling smile. He quickly leaned in to kiss her cheek and she was forced to face him, blushing and grinning like a fool. Surely she couldn't be the cause for so much happiness in him. The piano made sense, but her?

Edward tapped the photo that stood alone in the center of this page, and Bella followed his finger only to groan and cover her face. Prom.

"What? Why are you groaning?" he laughed, poking her playfully in the side. It was a beautiful photo, he thought. Alice had taken it of the two of them, Bella the very image of perfection, her cheeks rosy and her eyes glazed over from the overwhelming preparation process. All Bella could focus on was the boot encasing her leg. Granted, that had been a result of a vampire stomping on her and not of her own clumsiness, but still. Her one contribution to the Cullen Family Album and she was an invalid.

"I think it's a sweet photo," Esme cooed, her hand resting lightly on Bella's arm.

"Anyone looking at this album would see you beautiful Cullens with your exotic travel destinations, and then they come upon clumsy Bella Swan with her leg in a boot," Bella pointed out with a sad shake of her head. It was a toned down explanation of the despair she felt. Edward's beauty dominated the photo. She looked even plainer than usual beside him – but that was okay, because no one would notice her anyways, unless to snicker at her boot.

"You were absolutely perfect," Edward insisted, his lips again pressing to her shoulder. Esme had tucked the photo in there that very morning, and watching her add his Bella to the album had given him an intoxicating thrill. Each action that cemented her further in his life did that to him, sending his world turning over in ways he had never expected, ways he couldn't begin to fully comprehend. The idea that once a piano had brought him joy was laughable because it paled in comparison; it served now as a distraction and an outlet for his overwhelming love for this silly girl beside him. He loved his piano. But he loved Bella far more. And now she was in the family album, another way in which she had joined the Cullen family.

He watched her face fall in disappointment when the rest of the pages proved blank, but her frown made him smile. Esme, too, glowed and matched Edward's thoughts completely.

Your wedding photos, she sighed internally, smiling at him over Bella's head. He nodded. It would be difficult to get Bella through a single wedding with her distaste for the spotlight, he knew. But it would happen, of that he was more sure of than anything except his love for her, and when that happened he personally would see to it that every single blank space in the family album was filled with pictures of her. Rosalie could cry all she wanted over it; his Bella deserved the tribute.

"I wish there were more," Bella bemoaned, gently closing the book and running her fingers over the Cullen crest much as Esme had done. "I mean, think of all the things you've lived through . . ."

Esme agreed, "I know. Granted, we have to be careful not to keep proof lying around of our inability to age, and at the time we always think to ourselves that it won't matter, not having paper photographs."

"Photographic memory," Edward reminded, tapping his forehead, just in case Bella had forgotten it from their long list of unfair abilities.

"Still, it is such a wonderful walk down memory lane," Esme mused. "And the photos we do have are invaluable to me. Just think, years from now, when you look back at the prom photo—"

"I will still groan and hang my head in shame," Bella laughed. Even as she said it, though, she felt a part of her heart lift simply at the fact that such a photo existed: physical proof of her and Edward. She didn't care so much that she was in it, and actually the photo would probably be much improved if she had simply ducked out of the frame. But the idea of having a photo of Edward positioned on her nightstand that could watch her fall asleep on nights he was away hunting . . . she thought momentarily about asking if she could make a copy of the piano photo, but then got an even better idea.

Esme wanted more photos.

Bella didn't want to be in the photos.

She could take the photos.

There was always at least one Cullen missing from the photos, the one standing behind the camera. She could be that Cullen. She hadn't ever really been into photography before, but she'd never really tried either, and anyways, no one could take a bad photo of the Cullens. Maybe she'd even actually be good at it. That could be her thing! She would be the photographer Cullen.

Labeling herself a Cullen, even in such a flippant mental way, brought the heat back into her cheeks. Edward noticed this and traced the blush lightly with his fingertips.

"What are you thinking, love?"

What if she was awful? She didn't want to tell him her idea just yet because the idea of failing in front of him was mortifying, even if she wouldn't be able to hide her idea from him for long. Angela was into photography, though. Maybe she could see if Angela would help her out a bit, teach her the basics, show her the ropes. She could wait until he went hunting again and test the waters to see if she showed any talent at all . . .

Biting her lip, Bella teased, "I was thinking how lovely all the wedding photos are. Esme and Carlisle. Jasper and Alice. Rosalie and Emmett." Edward felt his chest swell and held his breath at where this was going. "You and your piano."

He had her pinned against the wall, tickling her sides mercilessly before she even knew what hit her.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The pawn shop was dirty and crowded, and Angela and Bella stuck close to each other, afraid of some illogical danger. Lawnmowers, keyboards, and aged television sets lined the walls, but Bella followed dutifully behind Angela to the far corner where a glass case of cameras beckoned.

"We'll start you with fully manual," Angela was explaining. "Eventually you might graduate to automatic, but by then you might want to go digital anyways. Maybe not, though. There's something so . . . personal about film. You just don't get the same personal relationship with your photos when you aren't processing them yourself."

Bella agreed as though she understood, "Manual . . . manual it is, then?"

"Sorry," Angela grinned. "You'll understand all of this soon. Manual means you have full control of the aperture and shutter speed, whereas most automatic cameras just take care of that for you, but sometimes not the way you want them to. They make a robotic decision, but sometimes you want to be artistic, you know?"

Bella nodded and tried not to cringe. She didn't consider herself very artistic. She was going to be taking snapshots, though, she reminded herself, so surely she didn't need to be artistic for those. She would flounder through the basics with Angela and then probably take the easy route and go automatic.

"You are looking for a camera?" the employee asked, waddling over to lean against the glass counter, his large belly casting a shadow over the case of pocket watches and gold necklaces.

"Yes, please. 35 millimeter manual," Angela answered. To Bella, she added, "Eventually I'll teach you medium and large format, but we'll start with what you're probably already a little familiar with."

Bella made a face, "You're kind of overwhelming me . . ."

Again Angela laughed, "I'm sorry. I'm just very excited to get to do this, Bella. Thanks again for asking for my help. I'm flattered and I'm excited to have an accomplice. I mean . . . who knows, down the road we could photograph weddings or something together. Sorry!" she gasped, seeing Bella's wide eyes. "I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Yeah, Angela. We don't even know if I'm going to be any good yet."

Angela patted her arm before turning back to the man, who had begun to pull cameras out of the case and set them on the counter, "I'm sure you'll be great. Okay, so it looks like we have an Olympus, a Philips, a –ooh, that's in bad condition. Definitely no to that one . . . oh, a Vivitar!"

"Is that good?" Bella inquired when Angela picked this last one up and began scrutinizing the lens. She tugged it off and looked inside, then held the lens up to her eye and twisted. She popped open the back and inspected the film space, then held the eyepiece up and began changing settings. Bella's shoulders sagged with relief that she had asked Angela to help her find a camera and not just trusted herself to get what she needed. There was no way she would have known to check all these things, and probably would have walked out with the broken one Angela had turned down upon sight.

"Well, I use a Vivitar. They're the only automatic cameras still being made, and this looks—" she interrupted herself and sent Bella a wink when the man wasn't looking. Angela didn't usually wink. She really must be excited about his whole thing. "It's all right," she shrugged. "Not in bad condition, but it'll need a bit of cleaning up. There's a scratch here on the base." Bella started to argue that she didn't care but decided to just let Angela handle the whole thing. The photographer turned to the employer and asked, "Is it just the camera on its own or does it come with any accessories?"

"What accessories do you want?" he returned, his face screwing up in disgust. He didn't seem to know or care what Angela was talking about.

"A case? Any other lenses? A cable release would be nice. A removable flash. Here, Bella, what do you think?" Angela handed the camera over and Bella felt her breath catch, already afraid she was going to drop it. It was heavier than she had expected, but still not heavy at all.

Bella held the camera up to her eye to look through before admitting with frustration, "I can't see anything."

"Lens cap." Bella's face flushed with embarrassment. What an elementary mistake. She was going to fail miserably at this whole photography thing. Angela didn't seem bothered at all, didn't even bat an eyelash as the man began pulling out gadgets that Bella couldn't begin to understand. She popped the cap off and held the eyepiece to her face, watching Angela talk to the man through the camera. She pushed the button and the camera clicked as though a photo had been taken.

Just like when she had first seen her beat up old truck, Bella was suddenly inexplicably in love with this camera. Even the silver scratch, which ran across the bottom as though the careless previous owner had swiped it across the tip of a key or sharp corner, seemed instantly familiar.

"How much is this?" Bella asked, holding the camera up to the man.

Angela managed to work some form of magic that Bella hadn't realized she was capable of. Angela had never struck her as a haggler –she was typically so gentle and soft spoken, but when it came to getting the supplies for the best deal, Bella watched her bargain in awe. In the end, Bella left $200 poorer but with the camera, a case, a removable flash, a cable release, a lens cloth, and a small 13" tripod.

"That was a good deal," Angela beamed, pointing to the camera. "It's perfect and definitely worth more than what we paid. The camera alone is probably worth two hundred. Now, for your first lesson today, I'll teach you about the camera. Are you hungry?"

Bella took Angela to her house, both girls waving at Charlie as he checked the oil of his and Bella's trucks. After lunch, Angela sat beside Bella on the couch, tightened her ponytail, straightened her glasses, and began:

"Alright, so first let me teach you the basics of a composition. Later on I can teach you all the technical aspects how film is made, but for now we'll stick to the basics so you can get processing and printing. So you know the way that a photograph is made is that for a fraction of time, light is exposed to the film."

"Yes," Bella nodded, glad she was keeping up. So far.

"Well there are two ways you can control how much light is exposed to the film, via the shutter speed and the aperture. I mean, technically there are three, because there's also the speed film you use – you hear that called the ISO. But for now I'll have you shoot 400 consistently. Don't give me that look, Bella, you'll be a whiz later. For right now, shutter speed and aperture."

Bella grimaced, nodded, and leaned closer as Angela picked up the camera and began showing her things, "This dial here controls the shutter speed, which is how long the shutter remains open. This in here is the shutter," she explained, opening the back of the camera and pointing to the small black slats behind the lens. "See, when you push the button to take the photo, the shutter opens. The shutter speed tells the camera how long to keep it open. The numbers here are actually fractions. So this one is one over one, this two is one over two –or half a second, and so on. Looks like your camera goes to a two-thousandth of a second. You'll probably typically deal with a fifteenth to a five-hundredth."

All the numbers crashed around in Bella's brain, but she tried to just swallow them and move on.

"This is also where this cable release comes in." She held up the long cord and twisted it into a small hole beside the shutter button. "This is so you can take a photo without touching and therefore shaking the camera, but it also means you can simply hold the shutter open, if you're wanting to do a particularly long exposure. We won't bother with that or the tripod now, but you can play with them later. Oh, and this crank here is your self timer. Push it down and it'll go off in . . ." She waited until the shutter clicked. "Looks like yours is ten seconds."

"Is the shutter what makes that sound?" Bella asked, watching as Angela pushed the button to open the shutters.

"No, that's actually this little mirror here. This is what you call a single-lens reflex camera, or an SLR." She popped the lens off and showed Bella the mirror inside the belly of the camera. "This mirror bounces the image up into here, into a prism that flips the image so that it's normal when you look through the eyepiece. This way you can see exactly what is going to be on the negative. In old range-finder cameras –you've probably seen them—you're looking through a window up here in the corner of the camera, so you kind of have to just guess and get the general area of the photo. The sound is this mirror popping up to get out of the way. See?" She pushed the button and the mirror disappeared before snapping back down. "Okay so far?"

Bella smiled hesitantly and gave a slow nod, "Yeah, I actually think so."

"Good. Okay, so shutter speed. The other way is through the aperture, which is in the lens itself." Angela set the camera down but held the lens out, telling Bella to look in as she turned one of the two rings encircling the body of the lens. "The aperture controls the size of the hole through which the photo is taken. A bigger hole lets in more light, and a smaller hole means less light, which equals a sharper focus."

"Why?"

"Concentration of light," Angela answered vaguely with a wave of her hand. "It's best to just accept it for now. The increments of the aperture are called F/stops."

"Why?"

Here Angela paused, "I don't actually know. Just accept it. Anyways, the smaller the number, the more light is let in, the bigger the hole, see? Each stop doubles, or halves, the amount of light let in. Sometimes cameras have weird partial stops, but the Vivitars are pretty consistent. See, your F/stops rang from one-point-seven to twenty-two. I think mine goes up to thirty-six. Here, I made a copy of this for you," she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse on which were written shutter speeds, apertures, and an explanation of increments.

"So between shutter speed and aperture, you control how much light is let into the film. The reason is that if you're shooting in a really sunny spot, you're going to have a lot of light, but if you're indoors, especially in a dark spot, you'll have to compensate, either by widening the aperture or leaving the shutter open longer. I typically try to change the aperture first because the longer your shutter is open, the more likely the camera is to move . . . but it's sort of up to the individual and the situation. If you're having to use a really wide aperture, your image won't be as sharp. In that case, you might rather use your tripod, cable release, and a slower shutter speed."

Bella handed the lens over for Angela to snap back onto the camera sans the cap and asked, "How do you know how much light you need?"

"That's where this camera is good because it actually has a built-in light meter. Okay, look through the camera but only hold the shutter button down halfway." Bella did this. "Do you see the little lights on the right?"

Bella nodded, "Yeah, there's a red negative sign."

"That means the camera doesn't think you have enough light to make a good negative. So open your aperture a bit more."

"By . . . turning it to a smaller number?" Angela beamed and nodded, and Bella twisted the aperture ring a single click. She looked again, then reported, "It's still the negative sign."

"Try one more then." Bella did and this time saw a green dot. "That means the camera thinks the light is perfect. You also, instead of opening the aperture, could have changed the shutter speed to stay open longer. The camera takes that into account. Now, there are things you want to take into consideration that can confuse the camera. Using a flash, for instance, though I suggest you don't for a while. Also, bright whites and dark blacks. So . . . okay, say for instance you're going to take a picture of me standing against this wall," Angela illustrated, standing and crossing the room. "Okay, my shirt is pretty bright. Take a light reading off of it and adjust." Bella did this. "Now point the camera at my face and take a reading of that."

"It's a red negative sign again."

"Right. The camera is shooting for my shirt, which is reflecting a lot of light, but that means it's not going to take enough light in to give detail on my face. If I was wearing a black shirt, it would be the opposite. So you have to decide either to shoot for my face, if that's the most important part of the photo, or else take an average of the two and then just dodge and burn in the printing process."

Bella suddenly frowned and held the camera down, "Angela, this is getting a lot more complicated than I thought."

"No, no, it's not, I promise. It's overwhelming right now, but truly, by the end of the week adjustments will be so natural to you that you won't even have to think about it. Now, the other ring on the lens is for focus. Do you see how it focuses?" Bella twisted the ring and nodded. At least that part was easy. "Great! So you're about ready to start shooting."

"Really?"

"See, it's not so bad. And like I said, experimentation and trial and error. Aperture and shutter speed will get really easy. Now, do you know how to load film?" Bella laughed, but Angela insisted, "You'd be surprised how few people know. Everyone uses digital nowadays. When I was in San Francisco last month, I got stopped three times by people who saw my camera and wanted to know if I could help them load their film."

Bella snickered, "Well it's a good thing my dad and I are stuck in the stone age, huh?" She accepted a roll of film from Angela and loaded it, appreciating the advice when Angela showed her how much film to tug out and tuck into the spool, and how to twist the film rewinder until the film was snug in the camera to make sure it had caught and loaded properly.

"You'll probably have a few mishaps. I know I still do. I'll think the film is loaded and it's not so I'll shoot a roll on nothing. Or I'll think the film has rewound and I open the back to discover that it's not and I've just ruined the whole thing. Or shooting with the lens cap on. That's the worst because you feel so dumb."

"Is that why you didn't laugh at me earlier?"

"Even professional photographers forget. Sometimes newer cameras won't let you shoot with the lens on, but most just let you go happily along wasting your time and film. So, this film is Tri-X 400. It's Kodak, which I like the best, but Ilford brand isn't bad either. We'll print on Ilford photo paper. This film is good but pretty basic. It's black and white since that's all we have the chemicals to print in the dark room at school. Also, most commercial labs can't process this, so don't bother taking it to Walmart or Walgreens; they'll just ruin it. Anyways, here on the shutter speed ring, do you see that little number that's in the window?" Bella nodded; beneath the tiny window were the letters ISO. "That's where you tell the camera what film speed you're using. So go ahead and pull the ring up, then twist it until you see 400 in the small window." Once Bella had done this, Angela grinned, "Great! Now you're loaded and ready, let's get shooting!"

Bella wasn't sure what she wanted to photograph, but decided that she might as well shoot Charlie as he worked on their trucks outside. She didn't know when the last time anyone had taken photos of him was. When she and Angela approached, he was greasy and sweaty, his empty lunch plate sitting nearby.

"What are you girls up to?" he asked, resting his hands on the hood of the truck when they approached. "That your new camera?"

"Yeah. Angela just explained . . . a lot to me, so now I'm looking for a subject to shoot my first roll with so she can teach me to process it."

Charlie's eyes sort of glazed over, but he still nodded to Angela, "That's very nice of you to help Bella out like that. I know she appreciates it."

"Oh, it's my pleasure! I'm probably having more fun than she is," Angela assured him.

"So, Dad, do you mind me shooting you?"

He chuckled, "Well, Bells, if you're going to phrase it like that—"

"Haha, Dad," Bella rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. My very first roll of film."

Charlie hemmed and hawed and looked altogether uncomfortable, but he conceded, warning Bella that he wasn't a very photogenic subject. When Bella tried to tell him to relax and just go about his business as though she wasn't there, he just looked more uncomfortable. Angela finally jumped into the shots as well, asking him some questions about the engines to get him pointing and talking while Bella stalked around, adjusting the aperture and shutter speeds to try and get the little green dot of approval. It was tricky sometimes, if he moved and let more sunlight into the shot; she would have to readjust all over again.

"Okay, Angela, it won't let me take any more pictures," Bella finally announced when the film advancer wouldn't turn any more.

Charlie frowned and joked, "Did I break your camera?"

Angela had the graciousness to laugh at his lame humor and sidled up to Bella, "Good, your very first roll is done. Okay, so push this little button on the bottom of the camera here." Bella had to use her pinky since the button was sunk into a hole. "Now the film is unlocked inside. So pull the little handle of the film rewinder." Bella used her nail to pop it out, then began winding when Angela told her to. She wound and wound and wound until a small snap was heard inside the camera and there was no longer any resistance to her turns. "Good, that means the film is rewound. You could hear the film rewinding, right, and then now it isn't pulling anymore. If you ever aren't sure, don't open your camera until you're in the processing closet." Bella pulled the film rewinder up, and the back popped open, revealing the roll of film completely encased in its plastic canister. "So, do you want to call it a day or do you want to see if Mr. Miller is up at school and I can teach you to process?"

Seeing as Bella had only three days to become a master photographer, she agreed to follow Angela up to Forks High, promising Charlie she would be home in time to cook dinner. Mr. Miller the photography teacher was also married to a photographer, and the two of them "bled developing chemicals," as Angela put it. Even though school had let out for the year, Mr. Miller was more than happy to open up the dark room and hang out at school whenever students wanted, and typically during the week he and his wife were there anyways, processing their own things. Being Friday, Angela wasn't surprised to see his Honda parked near the side entrance nearest the dark room.

"I'll give you his number before I go home," Angela promised, finding him in her address book. After a minute, she greeted, "Hey, Mr. Miller, it's Angela! Yeah, me and Bella are here to process some film. Right outside. Great, thanks."

A minute later, Mr. Miller was pushing the door open, welcoming them in and beaming, "Bella Swan, it's so nice to meet you." Short but energetic, Mr. Miller had been born in Guatemala but raised by adoptive parents in Oregon before marrying and settling here, though he and his wife frequently traveled for photo assignments during the summer and school holidays. Bella knew all this from his travel photos which had been used all around the school and in many classrooms. Not to mention, Angela basically idolized the man and articles on his life and work were frequently in the school paper.

"Nice to meet you too," Bella returned, shaking his hand and following as he led the way to the dark room.

He was assuring her over his shoulder, "I know Angela is an excellent teacher and probably has everything covered, but if you ever need help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. Make sure you have my number before you leave and you can always call to see if I'm up here, or if I'm free to come hang out for a couple of hours . . ." He was exceedingly nice and Bella could see why the photo kids praised their mentor so highly.

Angela was a patient teacher as she explained the chemicals to Bella and showed her the charts on the wall as she pointed out the times the film would need to be bathed in each. It was a much more frustrating and anxiety-inducing process to Bella, having to keep such precise track of time and handling chemicals, remembering which ones to dump down the drain and which to funnel back into their bottle. Fortunately, because the chemicals were dangerous undiluted, Mr. Miller always took care of that beforehand, and there wasn't any actual danger involved – though Bella was certain she could find a way.

Afterwards her hands reeked of developer chemicals – and Angela warned it would be worse when they actually started printing. By the end of the processing events, Bella's fingers felt frozen from being constantly splashed and submerged in various diluted chemicals and cold water. She smiled to herself at the small reminder of Edward.

The moment of truth came when Angela finally twisted the waterproof funnel off of the top of the film processing canister and pulled the plastic reel of film out. She smiled and handed it to Bella, "See? It turned out just fine." Sure enough, though the film was a strange pale purplish color, Bella could see the negatives and her shoulders sagged in relief. After all the warnings Angela had given her about how easy it was to mess up the film before this point, and knowing Bella's tendency to experience problems even when they weren't so easy, the pride she felt at having succeeded with her first role was overwhelming.

Angela helped her squeegee the water off with their fingers, then they hung it in the drying closet to spend the night.

"Congratulations!" Angela beamed, shaking Bella's hand with a delighted smile. "Welcome to the league. You've successfully processed your first roll and if you want, we can come up here tomorrow and start printing. Or if you would rather shoot and process more first, you can. Usually you'll probably want to process two rolls at a time – you know, to save time."

Bella bit her lip and nodded, "Next time. In this new hobby of mine. Yeah, tomorrow would be great. I mean, you can at least teach me printing, right, and then I'll go from there."

"Definitely. And you know, Bella, it's hard to tell from negatives sometimes, but the compositions look good. I think you got some good shots, and you were just playing around. You might really have a knack for this!"

Bella's heart leapt into her throat, but it was an excited blush that crept into her cheeks. This was high praise from Angela, and a hopeful thrill ran down her back. She might have a knack. This might really be her thing!

She knew she had to get home and get dinner started, but after taking Angela home with all of her thanks and agreeing to pick her up the next day for printing lessons, all Bella really wanted to do was shoot more. Because the nearest photo store was in Port Angeles, Mr. Miller kept a huge stockpile of film that students could purchase from him, and so four new rolls waited in her camera bag. Bella felt like a whole new world had been opened up to her and she couldn't wait to play around some more. After dinner she would have to look through the history of photography book Mr. Miller had given her for inspiration, and maybe she could shoot another roll or two before bed . . .

Bella might have found her thing. Bella might actually have a talent for something. The next day couldn't come fast enough.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mr. Miller was always in the darkroom on Sundays; he said he had spent the seventh day in a darkroom every day since he was a child following along behind his photographer parents. This meant for the third day in a row, Bella spent non-school time inside of school. Eric Yorkie joined her and Angela this time, as well as two other kids, Stephen Gloss and Austin Nimson. It was surprisingly relaxing, Bella thought: the five of them and Mr. Miller quietly working at their individual enlarging stations and then chatting over the trays of chemicals in the center of the room as they moved their prints through the developing process. The red lights illuminating the room gave it a sort of batcave feel, and everything seemed isolated; she was surprised each time she walked out to hang prints to dry and saw the digital clock on the wall announcing the passage of time. The darkroom seemed to defy time.

Saturday had been spent learning to print, and then in the afternoon Bella had shot two more rolls just around the house: stupid, random stuff, like the shoes lined up by the door, or the evening sun coming through the blinds across the kitchen floor, or the stuffing sticking out of a hole in the couch. She realized each shot was trying way too hard to be artistic and had the emotional depth of an acorn hat, but it was fun to shoot nonetheless and made her feel artistic. Besides, it gave her more film to process and print on Sunday.

By the time she left school to head home late in the afternoon, Bella had six prints she was happy with, and she couldn't decide whether she was just proud of herself for doing this or if they were actually good pictures. She would have liked to think the latter, and even Mr. Miller had praised her work, but he was supposed to, right? Being a teacher and all? Still, she couldn't wait to show them to Charlie, who would admire them because he didn't know anything about it anyways. And of course, Edward, who was supposed to be returning from hunting late that night.

To Bella's surprise, she spotted the silver Volvo parked on the street just as she rounded the corner – and here Edward had made it sound like wouldn't be back until long after sundown. She grinned to see him sitting on the porch steps, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him, bored but waiting for her.

Before she'd even pulled the E-brake, he was tugging her door open.

"Easy there!" she teased. "I need that to stay on my car, thanks." Still she leapt down, falling straight into his hug as he kissed her cheek and then her lips, light but meaningful.

"I missed you," he grinned against her mouth. "I've been waiting for over an hour. Where have you been and why do you smell terrible?"

She laughed and pulled away, "Wow, missed you too, mean boyfriend. You're gone for three days and suddenly you're all controlling and telling me I smell bad?" She reached back into the cab to grab her bag, then let Edward close the door behind her and walk with her up the steps to the house.

"If I was really controlling, I would have followed your scent to school."

"If you were really smart, you wouldn't have let it slip that you did," she teased. The house was quiet and empty but warmed by the orange fading sunlight pouring in through the windows. Bella had spent a long time disliking this house during the winter, but the onset of summer had brought with it a new sense of admiration. She still preferred the Cullen's beautiful home, of course, but there was something to be said about hers and Charlie's home, too.

Of course Edward hadn't accidentally slipped, and so just rolled his eyes, "Really, Bella, who goes to school on Sunday?"

"Apparently both of us."

"And I meant it about you smelling terrible. I think you're still under there somewhere . . ." He leaned forward and buried his nose in her hair, the pressed the tip to her temple and traced down the side of her face with it, before pressing his lips against the side of her neck and pulling tightly away. "Yes, still there. But above that, you reek."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that, because I'm afraid I'll be smelling like this a lot in the future."

"Why?" His face of disgust wasn't a joke this time, but it still made Bella laugh as his eyebrows knit together and his lips curled back. The developing chemicals smelled powerful to her, too, but she could only imagine what they would do to his heightened sense of smell. Uh well, though, he would just have to suck it up. Perhaps it would help combat the over-powering allure of her blood. He'd have to go through developer-coated skin to get at it . . .

Bella could hardly contain her grin as she confessed, "Edward, I think I've found my thing."

"What thing?"

"My thing."

"You're—oh, right. Your thing. And that explains why you smell like an alkaline factory exploded on you?"

Bella felt her enthusiasm deflate the slightest bit as she huffed, "How did you know it's alkaline?"

"You try sitting through a chemistry class with this," he frowned, tapping his nose. "It's torture. Makes it feel like your nose is going to burn right off your face. But really, what's your thing that you're so excited about?"

"Well . . ." Bella felt some of her hope perk up because he hadn't already guessed. But suddenly she worried she wasn't good enough or wouldn't be good enough, or that her thing wasn't good enough. After all, taking pictures and printing them wasn't quite of the same magnitude as composing beautiful piano movements on a grand piano. He might laugh at her, she realized, and suddenly berated herself for not telling him beforehand so he could have used the weekend away to get all his laughter out ahead of time.

"Bella?" he asked, concern now marring his face as he stepped closer. He took her hand, "What's wrong?"

Out with it, Bella: she pasted on a smile and stated simply, "Photography."

"Photography?"

"Yes," she nodded, watching his face closely for a reaction.

He remained blank for a long second before smiling politely, "That's great, Bella. I'm sure you'll be great."

But that was not what she wanted to hear, and she turned away in a huff. Again with the condescending smile, again with the 90-year age difference, again with the giving her the answer he thought she would want instead of admitting he wanted to see her work before he praised her.

Edward recognized her pout, though, and grabbed her arm to insist, "Honestly, Bella. That's great."

"You haven't even seen my stuff yet, so how can you know if I'm any good?"

"Well how hard can—" He stopped himself a second before Bella's glare did, her eyes narrowing at his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"I thought you would be happy for me," she frowned, setting her bag on the counter and pulling out her negatives binder. It was a special plastic binder that actually looked more like a box with three rings inside; it snapped closed to keep your loose prints in and the dust out. Edward was immediately at her elbow as she popped it open.

"Bella, I'm very happy for you, and I'm glad you've found your thing. I really am."

She stared up at him, leaning against the table, and asked, "What do you know about photography, Edward?"

"Uh . . . not much, to be honest. It wasn't anything I ever really studied or looked into." She continued to wait, so he searched, "I know that it's a chemical process. Light reacting to chemicals on the negatives. Um . . . not much more than that, really. I've never thought about it."

"Do you know what an aperture is?"

"No."

"Do you know how it correlates to the shutter speed?"

"No."

"Do you know anything at all about the work that goes into processing negatives and getting decent prints out of them?" It delighted Bella to hear herself talk, because she really did sound convincingly like this was something she had mastered, rather than a new hobby picked up three days ago. She was a fast learner, though.

Edward shook his head, "No, I don't. I'm sorry, Bella."

"Don't knock an artform, Edward, and I won't knock you pushing buttons on your little instrument."

They were silent a moment as Edward fought to keep the smile off his face and Bella tried to keep the glare on hers. It was no use, though, and she finally laughed.

"I do more than push buttons, Bella."

"So do I, Edward," she argued pointedly, jabbing her finger in the middle of his chest. "There's more to it than just point and click. Even before you push the button there's so much to take into consideration about lighting and composition and framing . . ." She was rambling and she loved it because she had something to ramble about. Unless he was lying, and she didn't think that he was, this was one area Edward didn't have any expertise in.

Finally!

Finally Bella had found something that Edward didn't know, and that gave her a selfish thrill. She thought to show him the photos, but already he had leaned around her and spread the prints out on the kitchen table, leaning closer as though a couple inches mattered anything to his enhanced sight.

The first photo was of Charlie and Angela. He was explaining something to her about the engine, rubbing a towel along his hands while she pointed and quirked her eyebrow. Charlie looked relaxed and in his element, and Bella loved it.

The next was of Charlie again, this time without Angela. He was leaning over the engine, his eyes trained on the dipstick as he checked the oil level. The hood of Bella's truck cut across the top corner of the picture, framing it beautifully. This was probably Bella's favorite.

The third was the shoe photo, which she loved because of the contrast between her untied tiny sneakers and Charlie's big, muddy boots.

The fourth was the lighting through the blinds and the fifth was the fuzz sticking out of the sofa, which she wasn't quite as pleased with, but Angela and Austin both said they liked all the textures.

The sixth . . . well, maybe this was her favorite, before the picture of Charlie; she couldn't decide. Taken from the doorway of her bedroom, afternoon sun made a perfect block on the crumpled sheets of her bed through the window, which she had centered in the frame. The curtains danced on either side of the open window, almost as though someone had just brushed quickly past them. It was a beautiful photo, but the meaning for her and Edward specifically was what really struck her about it.

She waited silently, impatiently for him to finish his study, unable to read his expression as he scrutinized them.

"Well?" Bella asked once she could no longer wait. She realized she cared way too much what Edward thought, but of course she did! She wanted his support.

"Bella," he breathed, straightening and casting one last glance before turning to her. "Bella, these are really, really good." He hadn't said 'the most amazing I've ever seen' or 'ground-breaking' or 'life-altering,' and that meant the world to Bella. His praise felt honest, and the teasing and the condescending were gone completely from his voice as he added, "Really, Bella. I'm impressed."

To emphasize his point, and atone for his slip earlier, he pointed out the things he liked: mostly the very same things Bella liked. The hood frame, the concentration on Charlie's face, the textures, the lights, and especially the bedroom window one.

"This one," he sighed, his crooked grin making Bella's heart skip a beat. "I stand corrected, Bella. There is certainly more in this photo than just pressing a button. It . . ." He looked closer, then smiled and kissed her forehead, "It's us. It's our secret."

"Yep," she beamed. "It is. But don't say it's us, because I hope our entire relationship isn't defined by you sneaking in my bedroom window every night."

He laughed at that and conceded, "All right, all right. I'll wait until we get our photo together."

Bella choked on air, "Uh . . . there won't be one. The convenient thing about being the photographer is that you get to stay behind the camera."

"You get to hide behind the camera," Edward corrected, watching as she cleaned everything off the table to prepare for dinner. "Please wash your hands before you start cooking. The last thing I need is for you to get alkaline poisoning—"

Bella rolled her eyes, "It's probably already soaked through my skin anyways."

"Aren't you going to go shower before you cook?"

"What are you trying to say, Edward?" she teased, setting her bag down on the counter by the fridge so it would be out of the way before turning back to him. He was leaning against the table with his arms crossed, a playful smirk on his face.

"I'm saying I wasn't kidding about how bad you smell," he retorted. "And if I'm going to have to deal with you smelling like that all the time, I'm at least getting a picture with you out of it."

"Only if it will replace the prom photo."

"Deal," he quickly insisted, holding his hand out. Bella sighed but shook it, already regretting the deal. "Now go shower."

She groaned, "Fine, fine. Oh, but Edward? Can you do me a favor?"

"What, love?"

"Can you . . . not learn? I mean, it's more fun if you don't—"

"Trust me, Bella, the last thing I want is to be anywhere nearer those concentrated chemicals. Now please, shower."

Bella left the kitchen but only had one foot on the stare before calling back, "Edward?"

"Bella?"

"Care to join me?"

"Go, Bella!" She laughed all the way up to the shower.

Despite Edward's initial misgivings about Bella's smell, he quickly fell into the role of assistant to the photographer. Though shoots had to be scheduled around Bella's job at Newton's, Edward was always ready with her camera bag and tripod, a nice expensive one he had "found" for her, when her shifts ended. He drove her all over western Washington, to every park, lake, zoo, and shore –excluding, of course, La Push—to shoot. Together they would hike around, looking for anything that inspired or caught Bella's eye. Edward kept busy and helpful, carrying her gear, labeling rolls in his neat hand, and darting to obey when she would ask him to adjust a flower, chase away a flock of seagulls, or disturb the water so that the ripples would catch the light of the flashlight she was holding.

Edward thought Bella was adorable with this new little hobby of hers. Watching her eyes narrow in concentration as they walked through park after park, her eyes narrowed for any block of sunlight or odd tree that might inspire or intrigue her was like watching a baby discover its toes or a preschooler discover a world away from mom and dad. It was fascinating how quickly she grew as a photographer, how quickly she learned what she liked and disliked as trends and style began to spread across her photographs.

She liked patterns of geometric shapes: bike wheels sectioned off by spokes, honeycombs, brick and stone. She liked juxtaposition of textures: glassy puddles on sidewalks, melted chocolate in crumbled cookies, Edward's hands pressed against rough tree back. But most of all, she liked light. Frequently Edward was sent to partially close blinds or half-block a window, to shine a flashlight on a reflective surface or gently blow lit candles to make the flame dance. Her experimentation amused him, and though the names of photographers and styles mattered little to him, it amused him to listen to her ramble about them.

The walls of the Cullen house began to collect framed photos of Bella's, which Edward's family applauded appropriately. Each print hung was like displaying an adored child's word on the fridge. She would hem and haw and point out flaws, but Esme assured her they were charming and Alice flattered her talent, and everyone exaggerated her abilities to make her sound like the next Cartier Bresson. Bella was good, of course, Edward thought, though he wasn't sure how her photographs would fare in the real world. But he loved the pride on her face when his family praised her talent.

When Bella asked to try portraits of them using a large-format camera, they had humored her and spent the three hours it took to shoot the thirty 4x5 negatives, posing individually and as couples. Bella had even, after much, much coaxing from Edward and Alice, agreed to show Alice how to focus the camera and trigger the shutter in order to take two photos with Edward.

"Remember our deal," he teased, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. "You smell bad, I get couples photos."

"We've taken photos together with my 35mm," she pointed out, but Edward stubbornly insisted and Bella decided it was easier to agree. She could always crop herself out later during printing.

These negatives Bella had given to Angela to hold on to until she could learn to hand process the larger negatives, but the rest of the 35mm film was processed by Bella every Sunday, then organized into the collection of negative binders accumulating on her shelf. Again, Edward beamed with amused pride, sitting in the rocking chair and watching her organize and label the negatives by date, subject, or theme. She took her new thing very seriously, and Edward learned to appreciate her hobby, since it was something they could do together, and something that clearly made Bella happy.

Even once school began, though Edward had thought her passion would die down, it didn't. Occasionally her photos crept into the school newspaper, and Mr. Miller had been bugging her for some time to join the yearbook photography staff. But she refused to take on any further commitments that would press into her time with Edward, and he was secretly, selfishly glad.

He watched her hunch over her binders, her lip between her teeth as she marked negatives she wanted to print next time he went hunting, and mused that when he married her, they would probably have to have an entire room in their house for her negatives if she continued to photograph at this rate. That was fine with him. This whole obsession would also make gift shopping for her that much easier. The accessories were endless and expensive and coveted enough that he hoped she wouldn't fuss about accepting them. The couple times he had bought things for her –such as the tripod—she had thrown adorable little fits and spent days demanding he take them back before accepting with a pout. He learned to sneak rolls of film into her stash when she wouldn't notice, simply for the sake of helping; he knew her entire paychecks were going towards her rather expensive hobby.

For her birthday, Edward spent an hour discussing megapixels and lenses with the salesman in Seattle before settling on a digital camera for her: Canon EOS 50D digital SLR with 18-200mm lens, which meant little to him. Reading minds came in handy when dealing with tricky salespeople, though, and Edward left knowing he had gotten the best camera for Bella. Even though he knew she loved film, he thought she might really enjoy exploring digital photography. Perhaps she would even let him buy her a laptop, or at least a newer computer on which to edit. From there he could buy her Paint Shop Pro . . . the gift possibilities were endless, and Edward couldn't wait. He could already see their life together, him composing while she printed, him admiring her photographs hung around the music room while she listened to him play. It would be a happy existence for two artists in love.

Then, Bella's birthday happened.


End file.
